


Chosen Paths

by self_indulgent_authorship



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Gen, Other Characters Are Mentioned, Selectively Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), again Zelda uh...isn't perfect, and i guess you could read this as Zelink if you squint, because that's unrealistic, but it doesn't merit the tag, i genuinely do not know how to tag this, idk - Freeform, kind of a vent fic?, this is basically my take on the memory, with added Link perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/self_indulgent_authorship/pseuds/self_indulgent_authorship
Summary: Memory Eleven: Shelter from the Storm(or me, upset with what this memory seems to imply)
Relationships: Link & Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 132





	Chosen Paths

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I KNOW I swear I'm writing my other fics, okay, just—this took control of my fingers and I don't know what happened. Anyway, this is basically me being upset with this memory and writing something I like more. Uh...y'all know how I am with Zelda, so if you're a blind Zelda stan, you...may not like this. So yeah...enjoy!

The rain fell slowly, but without end, the occasional drop landing on her bowed head and making her shiver. Lightning crackled in the distance, thunder following it. The road had become slick with mud, too thick to hope to continue through without sinking into it and becoming stuck. So they had stopped some time ago, and found a reasonable enough shelter under a large tree. But it seemed the rain had no intentions of stopping. 

Her spot below the tree offered some shelter, thankfully, though it was not nearly enough to keep her completely dry. The braids wrapped around her head were damp, as was her tunic, and her boots bore the very clear evidence of stomping up the muddy path nearby. Some of it had even splattered onto the Sheikah Slate on her hip, but it slid off with almost suspicious ease, leaving the odd device entirely unphased by the inclement weather. 

Just as unphased, it seemed, was Link, who after ensuring she was fine under the tree, had stepped out of its cover and begun to practice with his Sword. He faced the path, running what seemed to be drilled practices. Although he had no target or sparring partner, he seemed equally as engaged as if he hadn’t had one, and though she had only seen less than a handful of battles, she recognized enough about swordplay to know he was quite good. 

“Your path seems to mirror your father’s,” she mused, not expecting an answer anymore. 

He paused briefly, but did not turn to face her, nor did he give any appearance to reply. 

“You’ve dedicated yourself to becoming a knight as well,” she went on, and he resumed his practices. “Your commitment to the training necessary to fulfill your goal is quite admirable...I...see now why you would be the chosen one.”

He stopped, and turned to look at her. They stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking or hardly moving. The Sword was loose in his hand, hanging by his side, but she knew from experience how quickly he could snap into action. How deadly he could become with the weapon which had chosen him.

She broke eye contact first, looking away with her brow furrowed. “I wonder...what if, one day, you realized...that you just weren’t meant to be a fighter. Yet the only thing people ever said...was that you were born into a family of the Royal Guard, and...and so no matter what you thought, you had to become a knight…”

Her voice trailed away for a moment, and though she did not look up at him, she could feel his eyes on her. He could not doubt her meaning. What he would think of it, she couldn’t say, but...

“If it was the only thing you were ever told...” she mumbled dejectedly, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees and head turned away, avoiding him. “I wonder, then...would you have chosen a different path?”

Silence fell for a long moment. The rain continued to patter, but no other sound joined it. She resisted the urge to sigh and fold further in on herself, her thoughts wandering to dim places with little hope. 

_ “I didn’t choose.” _

She looked up as he moved out of the corner of her vision, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. Or maybe it was just the rain. “What?”

_ “I didn’t choose, Princess,”  _ he signed, his motions a bit stiff and his expression as difficult to read as it had ever been. Still, this time, she had understood what he said. 

Or at least, she had caught his gestures. She blinked, stunned. “W-what do you...”

_ “The Master Sword chose me to wield her,” _ he went on, holding her gaze with his uncomfortable intensity. _ “My father, then the Sheikah told me I had to train. The King chose me for the Royal Guard, then to protect you. I  _ **_didn’t_ ** _ choose.” _

She gaped at him for a moment, the surprise so clear in her expression it overshadowed the fact she had finally let a few tears escape her. “But...you...” she stopped, looking down and trying to gather her thoughts. “Everyone has always told me you’ve been talented since you were a child. Mipha said you’ve practiced a sword since you were  _ four.” _

He sheathed the Master Sword and came closer, sitting on the ground across from her without any concern for the rain. _“I have. I’ve known how to use a sword for as long as I can remember. Longer than that...”_ he paused, his own gaze going distant, as hers was before. _“But I’ve known how to climb, how to cook for just as long...My mother taught me to cook. I loved that more than I’ve ever loved training at the camps...”_

He trailed off, fidgeting with his fingers for a moment as if he might go on, but the words never came to him, and he stopped. She stared at him, looking just as stunned as she had moments ago. It was as if the thought had never occurred to her, to consider his own situation from any position but her own. Now that she was confronted with it, it seemed she was unsure what to do with the information.

Link was looking elsewhere, something softer about his expression than usual, a subtle, but existent difference.  _ “My lineage has nothing to do with what I want,” _ he signed after a pause, not even looking over to see if she was watching.  _ “Nothing more than your own has to do with what you want, at least. The only difference between us is that you haven’t found your power yet.” _

Her cheeks flushed and something went dark in her eyes. He didn’t see the change, his eyes still searching the horizon for something that wasn’t there.

“Don’t patronize me!” she cried, her arms falling to her side, her eyes bright with anger. He looked over at her quickly, but she hardly cared. “Don’t assume you know anything about me! You don’t! The simplicity of your own task has nothing to do with my own—you have no idea the pressures I am under, the expectations—”

His expression had gone blank as she spoke, but his eyes were anything but. Something jagged burned there, something beyond simple anger, or upset at the things she was shouting at him. Had she paid more attention, she might have recognized the look of contained violence in his eyes from the few times she had seen him in battle. It was the look she had briefly glimpsed when he had fought the Yiga in the desert, the Sword gleaming with a strange light. 

It was wild, that look—untamed and raw, fractured in a way he never was. The sight of it unsettled her that day, more so even than the way he wiped it away as he turned to help her up, his expression as closed off and cold as the metal gates of the Castle’s wall. 

In the middle of her speaking, he pushed to his feet and she fell silent, the rest of her anger dissipating as he all but towered over her, the quickness and eerie silence of his movements so  _ jarring  _ that her words slipped away. 

Without looking away from her, he reached behind him and pulled out the Sword once again. Unlike most times she had seen it, unlike when he had sheathed it only minutes ago, it was glowing, as it had briefly that day in the desert. A strange, blue white light seemed to emanate from inside it, and no rain touched it. Every drop to come too close skirted out of the blade’s path at the last moment. It was as if the aura surrounding it blocked anything from truly damaging it. 

The light cast sharp lines across Link’s face, but he did not appear surprised at the brightness of it, nor Zelda’s sudden silence. He held the Sword in front of her for a moment, as if waiting for something.

Then he backed away a step and, without taking his eyes from her face, spun the Sword in his hand and wedged it harshly into the ground. The mud made a nasty, squelching splash, but none of it touched the Sword. It only continued to glow, unbothered, if a sword could be such. 

Link still had not looked away from her.  _ “Take it.” _

She blanched. “What?”

_ “You said it was simple,”  _ he signed, his motions forceful, shaken.  _ “Take it, then.” _

His hands fell to his sides, but there was nothing relaxed about the way he stood. He was as tightly coiled as the springs in the Guardians she had scavenged with Purah and Impa. And the  _ look  _ hadn’t left his eyes either. 

“I-I…” she faltered, briefly looking at the Sword. “I didn’t mean…”

He scowled, and the sudden expression threw her off enough to silence her once again.  _ “If my task is so simple, then  _ **_do it._ ** _ All I did was take the Sword, right?” _

Something in his eyes said  _ no, it wasn’t simple,  _ but stubbornness had always been a weakness of hers, and she felt her own features harden into a frown. “I’m not a fighter.”

_ “Neither was I.” _

Again, she faltered, but his expression did not change, nor did his eyes move from hers. 

The Sword continued to glow. 

He was not going to move on this. The scowl had wiped away from his expression, but his eyes were still burning with that familiar, dangerous glint. And though she had no access to her own power, no sustainable connection to the Goddess who watched over their land, her mouth set into a firm line and she got to her feet. 

If she could make the Sheikah Slate work for her, then she could see no reason why she could not do the same here. He had not said anything about being  _ good  _ with the Sword; he only said to take it. And take it, she certainly could. 

She got forcefully to her feet, nearly slipping in the mud with how hard she planted her feet. He watched her with the same hardened eyes, not moving an inch, barely even breathing as she approached the weapon which had chosen him as its wielder. Had she been thinking more clearly, she might have seen the warning in that tense confidence, but she was so angry with him, so furious at his confidence and the  _ ease _ with which he seemed to accomplish every task laid out before him that she paid no attention to anything but proving him wrong. Even if she wasn’t entirely sure what she was proving him wrong for.

The rain was still falling around them, making her hair stick to her forehead. She pushed it away and approached the glowing Sword. Only when she got within arms reach of the hilt did she feel the wariness which perhaps ought to have been there all along. It wasn’t anything overt that caused it—it was something deeper than that, the strange, tempestuous feeling that sometimes came over her when she first entered a Spring or prayed at the Temple of Time. 

But it was just as brief now as it was there, fading off and leaving her bereft and lost. The loss of it made her angry, and her hands balled into fists again at her sides, her face set into a deep scowl. She stepped closer, ignoring the humming at the back of her thoughts and all but lunged for the sword’s hilt.

The moment her hands touched the grip, it was as if the world went dark. It felt like something was pulling at her mind, poking and prodding at her, even as a heaviness settled deep into her chest. An ache, or something sharper, was building behind her lungs and sharper in her arms. She could hardly see, only darkness and strange light around her.

It ended as suddenly as it had begun, though this time, it was Link taking her by the arm and pulling her away from the Sword. She gasped as the world flooded back into focus, sharp and almost painful. The pain in her chest faded to a dull ache, but the pain was sharper in her arms, insistent and sore, like she had spent the day pulling guardians apart with her bare hands.

He kept ahold of her arm for several seconds as she caught her breath, her hands shaking weakly at her sides. After a minute or two (she couldn’t tell) she pulled away from his grip. He let her go, watching her closely as she slumped to the ground once more, unable to muster any care about the mud anymore.

As he moved away from her she looked up at him again. The look was gone from his eyes, but the blankness she was now too accustomed to was back with a force. He held her gaze flatly, and somehow that was almost more frightening than the wildness in his eyes earlier. 

He looked away from her, to the Sword once more. It still glowed softly, not a drop of mud on its sharpened blade, not an inch of it moved from its place deep in the ground. 

Without so much as glancing her way, he took the Sword with both hands and, hardly hesitating more than a moment with his hands on the hilt, he pulled it from the ground. The Sword glowed brighter in his hand for a moment, nearly blinding in its radiance, before it settled, then faded. When the light had completely left it, he sheathed it on his back.

“What—” she croaked, then cut off, clearing her throat roughly. Her hands were tight where they clung to her knees, and the exertion had left her pale. “What was that?”

He didn’t immediately answer. His eyes had drifted back to what he had stared at before, a melancholy hanging around him that couldn’t have been caused entirely by their gloomy setting. No, this was deeper than such superfluous details. Perhaps it had always been there, and she only now was noticing it’s presence. 

_ “The Sword tests anyone who tries to take it,” _ he signed slowly, still avoiding her eyes. His motions had smoothed out, but his hands still trembled when he paused.  _ “Only the worthy can wield its power. If it finds you unworthy…” _

He paused for a moment, his expression darkening briefly. As if it pained him greatly, he dragged his eyes back to hers, and the wild look burned there again. 

_ “It wasn’t a test I chose to take, anymore than you choose to pray to the Goddess every day,” _ he signed, fast and almost illegible, as if he expected her to burst out again before he could finish.  _ “I’ve had no more choice in this than you have. If I reject the Sword, we’ll fail as surely as if you can’t unlock your power. That burden is on me too. And you aren’t the only person who's bothered by the weight of it.” _

With that he turned away from her, facing the path. His stance was forcefully relaxed, ready for movement at a moment’s notice, the same way he stood whenever he guarded the entrances to the Springs. The same detached protection which she had (perhaps foolishly) thought they had progressed past.

But as she pulled her knees back to her chest and dropped her head to her lap, a quiet voice inside her told a terrible truth. 

Whatever common ground they had found, she had pushed him from it. Again. And she wasn’t sure if she could ever coax him back to it now. He would continue to protect her, of course, but not for any purpose beyond duty, the same reasons which led her to continue this wild goose chase to every Spring and place of worship. It had nothing to do with his regard for her, and she could not find it in herself to blame him for that lack. 

It was her fault it existed anyway. She pushed him away at every turn, and it seemed that he had finally had enough of it. He might have been silent and closed off before out of respect or maybe even in an attempt not to bother her with his necessary, unavoidable presence. But now...now she felt his silence was for a reason entirely alien from that propriety or care. Now, it seemed it came as a means to protect himself from her childish scorn. 

Never mind that somewhere in her loneliest, most hidden thoughts, she really did want to...to...

She wrapped her arms tighter around her legs and buried her face in her knees, thankful for the rain to hide her embarrassment, and her tears. 


End file.
